I don’t really see myself as being in my midlife. That would mean that at least half of my life has already passed. But seriously, do I really believe I will live to be a hundred? Amazing how the brain can live with such cognitive dissonance!

What I do notice recently is a heightened awareness of the unfinished and  the unprocessed. The emotional clutter that manifests in material clutter – things I can’t throw away, things I haven’t sorted out. Remains of projects (crochet or in other forms) I didn’t get to finish. (Summer turns to autumn so there’s no more need for that cotton top I’m making…!)

Behind that everyday buildup, I notice another kind of buildup – one of regrets. Some are larger, many are small and subtle. Regrets of priorities I’m not giving true priority to, distractions I’m using to shield the discomfort of not living life completely as I would like to.

At death, they say we all naturally turn to running a life review – feeling the sting of regret of things we didn’t get around to, the sadness of broken friendships we never got to heal, the frustration of unfinished projects we will never get to complete.

I begin to understand the phenomenon of the Midlife Crisis… Those moments of acute awareness that much of our life is irretrievably gone and that what remains is uncertain and increasingly bereft of possibilities. So what am I doing with my life?

Am I contributing day by day to the list of regrets? Or am I building a storehouse of memories and connections that will inspire gratitude at the end of my life? Am I wasting time, feeling my life is not so important or valuable or am I squeezing joy from the smallest of delights: the golden sunlight in my room on this autumnal afternoon and the aromatic tang of my good Chinese tea?

At death, it’s not just regret that we may experience but also the preciousness of the time we have. What a pity to only experience that at the end of our lives! They say youth is wasted on the young – perhaps better to say life is often wasted on the living?

To quote the poet Mary Oliver: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”